Star Light, Star Bright
by ignitethenight
Summary: Remember my Number One Rule of RENT fanfiction. PostRENT, Roger's in the hospital, and he is so sick of hurting the people he loves... A story written for speedrent a'la It's A Wonderful Life & won second place. WARNING: Mentioned character death, sicknes


(_Author's Note:_ I wrote this back in April. It was one of my first stories, and it seems like I wrote it _years_ ago instead of months. I still love it, even though it's hard to quell the impulse to rewrite. I couldn't, though. However, I'm sure I will be writing – eventually :p – another _It's A Wonderful Life_-influenced story. But that won't be posted until next year – and for obvious reasons, I wanted to post this one now. :) I hope you enjoy it.)

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Machines beeped all around him, the walls seemed more gray than white, and there was a smell of piss and Lysol pervading the place. Not exactly the choicest place to die, but he hadn't really chosen it, anyway.

He slowly turned his head to look at the boy sleeping in the chair next to his bed. Mark had insisted on Roger's going to the hospital, a horrible hope way back in his desperate eyes. Roger knew Mark somehow hoped that the liquid dripping into his veins would help him in some way, that it was some kind of fucking pixie dust that would have him walking out of here tomorrow with Mark on his arm.

It had remained unsaid between the two close friends, that Mark had feelings for Roger. He had known after April, and withdrawal, and how no one else in the entire fucking world would have stood by him while he was crying and puking and punching walls. But Mark had stayed.

And he was still here. Not wanting to sleep, Roger knew. A rare smile crossed his face as he watched the blonde boy breathing deeply, eyes closed, scrunched, a look of worry on his face even in sleep.

Roger was glad at least that Mark was getting rest. He had been here since Roger agreed to being admitted. They were pumping him full of drugs, checking on him incessantly, and had an extra IV attached to a bag of food – whatever the fuck _that_ was, Roger didn't really want to think about it – but still the hacking cough remained, this new cough that racked his body each time it tore through him and had been closing his throat off every time he tried to sing.

Roger cleared his throat experimentally, choking on the air he tried to suck into his lungs. Mark stirred, but, Roger noted gratefully, didn't wake. With a little difficulty, Roger managed to turn himself over in bed so he could watch the filmmaker while he slept.

To his surprise, tears filled his eyes and started snaking down his cheeks. With everything, everything he had done and everything that was going to happen, he had hurt people. Always hurting the ones he loved the most. He had hurt April, and Mimi, and now Mark.

He kept his eyes locked on Mark as he felt himself drift into sleep. Closing his eyes and feeling pooled tears squeeze out and flow over his face. Mark.

_It would have been better if I had never been born._

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He was flying through the night sky, hurtling along, arms flung wide to catch the wild wind swirling all around him.

And the next second he was sitting in an office beside April, and God, she looked so _beautiful_, and _alive_, that Roger couldn't not look at her. He couldn't touch her, either, but felt content to just sit there and drink her in.

There was another man in the office, someone Roger didn't recognize, sitting across from them behind a large, imposing wooden desk. He was saying something Roger couldn't quite hear, but when April spoke it was as clear and sparkling as glass.

"I can't have AIDS," she said blankly. "My boyfriend …"

Roger closed his eyes, feeling a familiar pain blossoming in his chest.

April was crying now. "No. You don't understand. He saved my life. I was so unhappy – and then he came along – and – oh, my god, I was so happy …"

April lost her voice in the sobs that overtook her, and she jumped up and ran out of the room. Roger put his head in his hands.

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When he lifted his face again, his chest feeling heavy, it was to view himself, standing at a hospital bed. He did a double take before cautiously walking over, watching a younger version of himself apply ice chips to someone's lips.

"Mimi," he whispered. She looked so pretty, and tiny, and sick. His heart lurched.

"You want anything else, baby?" he heard his other self ask.

"No," Mimi's voice came out so weak, so fragile. Roger longed to go wrap his arms around his girl, but found he could get no closer than the end of the bed. Some invisible force held him back.

He barely remembered this moment – he must have blocked out so much of that time, so much of the pain.

He could see his younger self swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing. Mimi's eyes slowly closed, and Roger watched himself silently leave the room, clenching his hands into fists to keep control.

"So glad you're here, baby." Mimi's soft voice filled the room, her eyes still closed. "So – happy." She sighed lightly. "I couldn't do this without you." She reached a hand up, but when she felt no answering pressure she opened her eyes and slowly lifted her head slightly to look around the room. A light, breathy chuckle escaped her lips as she realized Roger had left, and she let herself drop back onto the bed.

"He'll be back in a minute," she said quietly to herself. "God, I love that boy."

Roger had to look away, turn his whole body away from Mimi and smash his palms into his eyes, trying to get control.

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When Roger looked up again, the hospital was – no, not gone, but behind him. He was standing outside in the garden area where patients could go for fresh air or a smoke. The night sky stretched above him, millions of stars sparkling in the blackness.

It took a moment before he saw someone standing just off to his right. He was looking up, and as Roger followed his gaze he could imagine that it led right to his hospital room. But as he approached the person standing there, he could see that he was looking up to the stars, shivering. He could also see the blue and white scarf around the boy's neck.

"Mark," Roger whispered, feeling an all-new pain stab through him.

Mark looked up and to the left, almost as if he had heard Roger. But he made no sign of seeing him, only looking up into that brilliantly shining sky.

"Every fucking star," he said in a choked voice, before starting to wipe his face and taking big gulping breaths.

Roger swallowed, looking up at the same stars before wiping at his own face. The stars, he understood, that Mark had wished on.

- - - - - - - - - - -

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This time, Roger found himself in the loft, and he wasn't alone.

"Collins?" he asked disbelievingly, stepping closer to get a better look.

"The one and the only," Collins said, laughing and pulling Roger into a bear hug that he was surprised didn't break his ribs.

"What are you doing here?" Roger said, smiling as he pulled away.

"What, you think Angel's the only one who can make these little 'not your time yet' visits?"

Roger gaped. "Collins – you mean – "

Collins nodded, unusually solemn. "I mean, my friend."

Roger let his eyes roam over the loft. "I thought – when I started coughing – "

"Well, no worries yet," said Collins, unable to repress a smile. "But that's not why I'm here."

Roger looked back at him sharply. "It isn't?"

"No," Collins said, somewhat serious again. "You're wasting your time."

"Wasting my – what do you mean?"

"Don't tell me," Collins said, eyes flashing dangerously, "That you don't love that boy sitting by your hospital bed. You have been an idiot many times, Roger Davis, but now I am here to bitch slap you back to reality."

Roger dropped his head to his chest. "I've hurt him too much already. If – if I told him this, if I let anything happen – "

"What?" Collins said, challenge in his tone.

"I'd hurt him even worse!" Roger flashed back, angry now. He'd been holding in so much for so long now.

"You really are an idiot sometimes," Collins said in disgust.

Roger fought back the emotion threatening to take his voice. "Collins, I've hurt everyone I've ever loved. I – I can't bear to hurt Mark anymore. If I didn't think he'd kill me, I'd throw him out of the hospital room." Roger laughed wetly, imagining Mark pounding on him, fists flying. He'd almost welcome it.

Collins shook his head, then stepped over and knocked sharply on Roger's head.

"Ow! Collins, what the fuck was that for?"

"A little divine intervention," Collins grinned.

"Some fucking angel you make," Roger grumbled darkly, giving his friend an evil look as he rubbed his head.

"Maybe that'll make you listen." Collins laughed. "Have you noticed you're not very good at that? Listening?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Roger growled, still pissed about the knock to the head.

Collins lost his smile. "You really don't see, do you?" He locked eyes with Roger, walking closer until they were almost nose-to-nose.

"April was a lost soul when you found her," Collins said, his voice deep. "She had been through so much shit she didn't know which end was up anymore. You found her, you made her feel like she was worth something. Do you know what a gift that was for her?"

Roger tried to look away, but Collins reached up and grabbed his arms and shook, forcing him to face his words.

"Roger, she would have killed herself anyway. You gave her love before that happened. And Mimi – you gave Mimi love to the very end. Did you see any family there? No. Just us. But mostly you. You gave her a loving death – as she left this world she was thinking about how much she loved you. Do you know where she would have died if it hadn't been for you? Broken and bleeding on some dirty street corner."

Roger gasped. "No more."

Collins' eyes burned. "You will listen to this, dammit. And now there is that boy, loving you like he's never loved anyone, watching you slip away and he doesn't even feel like he has the right to put his arms around you."

Roger looked at him, tears shining in his eyes as he thought of Mark, his head drooping as he sat beside him, for weeks. As he filmed Roger, laughing whenever Roger tried to put up a hand to stop it. Mark sitting cross-legged in the loft, a smile on his face as he listened to Roger play. The fear in Mark's eyes that he tried so desperately to hide whenever another doctor walked into the room.

Collins let him go, giving him a gentle shove as he stepped away.

"Did you listen to what I said?" Roger nodded.

"Did you _hear_?" Another silent nod.

Collins nodded and grinned. "Good, 'cause I want my wings already."

Roger chuckled. "God, it's good to see you, Collins."

"You too, man. Now, you gotta go back. Live your life." Collins punched him in the shoulder. "And for the love of God, talk to Mark."

Roger nodded, emotion tightening his chest. "Hey, Collins – give Angel a good hug for me, will you? And Mimi – and – "

Collins laughed. "I'll take care of it." Collins winked. "You be sure to give Mark a good fuck for me."

Roger laughed, out loud, and then threw himself at Collins, holding him tight.

"Collins," he said, happiness filling him. But he never got to finish what he wanted to say.

- - - - - - - - - - -

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When Roger woke, Mark wasn't there. Panic flooded his body and he started coughing.

"Mark?" he called out as soon as he was able. But there was no answer: only the darkness of his hospital room. Roger fell back into bed, breathing heavily after his coughing fit. He had no right to complain after Mark had been here every moment, but what kind of fucking coincidence was it that _this_ would be the one moment he'd choose to leave?

Roger heard footsteps and struggled to sit up, only to fall back down again when he recognized the man at the door as a nurse.

"Hi, Mr. Davis. I've got your sleep meds here."

Roger craned his neck to look beyond him. "I don't want them."

"Doctor's orders," the guy said cheerfully, inserting the syringe into Roger's IV as Roger sighed. "You need your rest, and that friend of yours keeps you up much too much."

"You keep Mark out of this," Roger said quietly, his voice gravelly. "Is that why he isn't here? Listen, I want an order, or whatever, that he can be here whenever he wants. I want him here. All the time. Do you understand me?"

The nurse regarded him coolly. "Loud and clear."

Roger relaxed back into his pillows. "Good. Thank you," he added as an afterthought, watching the nurse leave the room. Roger closed his eyes, hoping sleep wouldn't come before Mark.

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"Hey."

The soft voice rang out in the darkness. Roger's eyes flew open, a tentative smile on his face.

"Mark?"

Roger lifted himself up slightly to see Mark standing in the doorway, holding –

"You got me a tree?"

Mark smiled. "Well, it's almost Christmas, and I wanted some color in here for you." Mark set it down on Roger's bedside table. "Your doctor told me it would be okay."

Roger watched as Mark bent over, struggling with the electrical cord. After a moment, the little tree was illuminated with pink lights.

Mark straightened, grinning at Roger as the lights twinkled over his face, glinting off his glasses.

Roger laughed. "That is the most godawful ugly thing I've ever seen."

Mark laughed too. "I know. But I thought it might be … nice."

"It is," Roger answered quietly, looking at Mark. He watched Mark start to flush, and look away.

"So," Mark said uncomfortably, still not meeting his eyes. "I talked to your doctor a couple minutes ago."

"Yeah?" Roger asked, eyes soft. Mark wondered what was making Roger look like that.

"Yeah," Mark answered. "He said your chest sounded like it was clearing."

"Good," Roger said, still staring at Mark, who grinned uneasily.

"You – you don't sound very happy."

"I am." Roger said. "I'm just not surprised, is all."

"Really?" Mark asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Roger said absently. "Mark, come here."

"What?"

"Come sit on the bed with me."

"Um. Okay," Mark said, slowly coming over and settling himself cautiously on the side of Roger's bed. "Is everything okay?"

Roger shook his head, taking a deep breath and not looking at Mark. Even though that was all a part of him wanted to do. "No."

"No?" Mark asked, fear in his eyes. "Roger, what's wrong? Should I get a doc– "

"Shh." Roger interrupted him, reaching out a hand. "Mark, lie down beside me."

Mark laughed, a short sharp little bark. "What?"

"Lie down beside me," Roger repeated, still not looking at his best friend. "I – I want to say something, but – just do it, all right?"

Mark looked at him a moment, then nodded, lying down beside Roger, his face to the wall. He stiffened when he felt Roger's arms encircle him, then relaxed, feeling Roger's warm breath on the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable," Roger whispered.

"It – it's not," Mark told him, finding it hard to speak.

"The thing is," Roger continued, tightening his embrace slightly, "That I haven't been honest with you. And – and I haven't let you be honest with me. But you have to believe me, Mark, I – I was only trying to protect you. I didn't want to hurt you anymore."

Mark's eyes darted, wondering what Roger would say next. "You've never hurt me."

Roger smiled, resisting the temptation to lightly kiss the back of Mark's neck. "I don't believe you. But that's okay. And I can't promise you that I won't hurt you again … but, Mark, I …"

Mark had to remind himself to breathe. "What?"

"I love you. I've loved you for a long time, but I couldn't bring myself to – "

Mark turned around quickly, careful to not jostle Roger. "Are you serious?"

Roger swallowed. "Yeah."

Mark closed his eyes. "Oh, my god."

The fear stabbed Roger's heart. "What? Are you freaked out?" He had been so sure Mark felt the same way.

Mark shook his head. "No. I just – I just never thought – " The younger man stopped talking and put his arms around Roger, curling his body to him, nestling his face in Roger's neck.

"You really meant it? I mean, it's a little late to ask, I've got my face in your neck now – "

Roger laughed. "I meant it, Mark."

They lay that way for a good long time before Mark lifted his face enough to look at Roger. "I've wanted this for a very long time."

Roger leaned forward and placed his lips against Mark's, gently applying pressure as he lifted a hand to pet Mark's face. "Me, too."

After he pulled away, Mark leaned back in and kissed him soundly, pulling his body as close to Roger's as possible. "I love you."

Roger smiled, and rested his head on Mark's shoulder. "Will you stay here tonight – just, you know, lay with me?"

He felt the chuckle rumble through Mark's chest. "I would be more than happy to get out of that chair. But what about the nurses?"

"Fuck 'em," Roger said contentedly, snuggling down beside Mark. "What are they gonna do, drag you out?"

"They couldn't," Mark responded, kissing Roger's head lightly. "You just go to sleep."

Roger nodded into Mark's shoulder, feeling himself drift into the happiest sleep he'd had in ages. This was worth it. So worth it. He remembered what he'd wanted to say to Collins, and it was even more appropriate now.

"Thanks," he whispered into the darkness, and then fell into sleep.


End file.
